<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>emptiness to melody by sophiegaladheon</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22688782">emptiness to melody</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophiegaladheon/pseuds/sophiegaladheon'>sophiegaladheon</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Minor Character Death, Original Character Death(s), Orphans, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Trauma, War Crimes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 03:01:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,147</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22688782</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophiegaladheon/pseuds/sophiegaladheon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A young girl seeks shelter from a storm in a dragon's cave.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dragon &amp; Human Child (Original Work)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Chocolate Box - Round 5</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>emptiness to melody</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elsin/gifts">Elsin</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Happy chocolatebox! I hope you enjoy your gift!</p>
<p>The title is from Hozier.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Greetings, child.”  The voice is deep and rumbly, and the girl can feel it vibrating all the way through her chest and in the soles of her feet.  The dragon inspects her curiously, one giant eye focusing sharply on her damp, shivering form.  “What brings you to my domain?"</p>
<p>The girl swallows nervously, the movement clicking in her throat, dry from exertion and fear.  “I apologize, Ser Dragon,” she says, for her mother taught her well both manners and of the old tales.  Courtesy, she knows, is never misplaced when encountering one of the great creatures of lore.  “I was merely looking for refuge.  I did not mean to trespass.”</p>
<p>The dragon shifts and settles, sending rainbow shimmers cascading down its golden scales.  The girl does not gasp, or gape, or step back—she is far too wary and exhausted to do anything but hold herself very still and watch—but the small part of her that remains of the innocent child filled with wonder that she once was packaged the sight away to hold tight and remember in the privacy of her own mind.</p>
<p>“Refuge?” asks the dragon.  “Hmmm.  Refuge from what?”</p>
<p>
  <em>Mother had given her real tea for her tea party. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>She does not know why she remembers that so clearly, remembers something so blatantly unimportant with so much force.  She can still smell it, the earthy, green scent of the herbs from the cottage garden dried and steeped in hot water, infused into steam.  She had poured the drinks so carefully, for her dolls Mr. Rabbit and Mrs. Rosemary.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Perhaps because it is easier to remember tea and dolls than to think about what happened next.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>She does not like to think about the shouting and the cries as the soldiers dragged her brother away, about the fist across her mother’s face as she reached after him, bruise blooming under freckled skin.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>She does not like to think about her father, unarmed, always smiling, peace-loving man, on his knees with a red-painted sword protruding from his back.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>She does not like to think of her mother, teeth bared into a vicious snarl as she screamed at her to run, as the soldiers moved in with their impassive faces and lit torches.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>She does not like to think of the smell of woodsmoke, curling after her as she fled into the woods—feet aching, short legs forced into bright flares of pain under unaccustomed strain—gasping for breath as she ran until she reached her secret hiding place amongst the roots, too small for any full-grown man to see her.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>She does not like to think about how she hid and choked on her tears until hunger had forced her out and things had become even worse.</em>
</p>
<p>She does not like to think about the last five years.</p>
<p>But she is stronger, now, strong enough to face a dragon, and that makes her strong enough to defeat her own memories. </p>
<p>“Refuge from the storm, Ser Dragon,” she says, tilting her chin up and pitching her voice as calm as she can manage.  “It is thunderously stormy outside and I have nowhere else to go."</p>
<p>The dragon tilts its head at her.  It seems to be considering her words.  The girl can feel her heart pounding in her chest—the dragon’s head alone is bigger than an entire plow horse, and those are the largest creatures she has ever seen, before this.  The dragon’s body stretches back into the darkness of the cavern, outside of the little circle of light cast by the tiny candle stub she holds gripped tightly in her hand.  She can’t imagine how big it is—in stories dragons are huge!  Sometimes the size of a whole castle!</p>
<p>It could kill her easily as breathing.</p>
<p>The silence stretches on.  She can hear the dragon breathing.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry to have disturbed you, Ser,” the girl finally says, “I can go now if you’d like.  I don’t want to be any trouble.”  She is not looking forward to a long night hiding from the lawmen in some muddy hollow, soaked through to the bone even more so than she is now, but she likes the thought of being eaten by an irate dragon, cross with its inadvertent house breaker, even less.</p>
<p>The dragon . . . chuffs.  Laughs?  Do dragons laugh?  Well, this one might be, and the girl starts at the sound, inching backward, hoping that it does not forewarn of imminent consumption. </p>
<p>But the dragon does not try and eat her, or breath fire at her, or anything threatening at all.  “There is a chamber through to your right,” the dragon says.  “You will find some things there which will make your stay more suitable.”</p>
<p>The girl freezes, her gaze flickering between the dragon and the cavern wall.  There is a doorway, or, well, an opening, where the dragon indicated, although with the lack of lighting she cannot see inside.  She edges towards it cautiously.</p>
<p>It may not be the most sensible decision she has ever made—and in the last five years she has developed a pretty good head for smart decisions—but she is hungry and tired and cold and wet, and if she can deal with any of those and not have to go out into the rain, well.  Right now, she is willing to deal with a freaking dragon.</p>
<p>Through the doorway, the light of her candle reveals a small room, cluttered with furniture and clothing, blankets and brick-a-brack.  It looks like someone used to live there, but their home had been turned into a storage space after they left, with miscellaneous clutter dumped on top of a once-beloved room.</p>
<p>She turned back to look at the dragon.  It was watching her, though she could not read its expression.  “Thank you, Ser Dragon,” she said, grateful for the kindness even as she could not help but wonder what it would end up costing her.  “I accept your hospitality for this night."</p>
<p>The dragon gives that rumbly, chuffing laugh again.  A faint smell of sulfur tickles the girl’s nose.  “You are welcome.  What is your name, child?”</p>
<p>The girl smiles at the dragon and gives her best formal curtsey.  This she knows, this she is familiar with.  She listened to the old stories when her mother told them to her, and listened at her mother’s knee.  Stories of bargain and barter and debt and true names.  “You may call me Alia.”  She is grateful for the hospitality but not enough to forget how to survive.</p>
<p>The dragon blinks at her, golden eyes glinting.  <em>It knows</em>, she thinks, <em>it can tell that I didn’t tell the whole truth</em>.  But it just nods in acceptance and dismisses her from its attention. </p>
<p>The girl breathes a sigh of relief and turns her attention to the cluttered mess of a room she has been temporarily gifted.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>